


the dress looks nice on you

by stranded_star



Series: The Tattoo AU [1]
Category: Holy Trinity (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/F, punk!Hannah, vintage!Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stranded_star/pseuds/stranded_star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s okay.” Hannah laughs, wiping the tattoo gun with antiseptic and placing it on the tray. “I’ve seen girls in bras before, Grace.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dress looks nice on you

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Trinity Week contribution #3. Thanks for reading! My tumblr has more Holy Trinity shenanigans: wordharvest.tumblr.com

Grace is really, really nervous. 

It’s not exactly the permanence part - she’s wanted this tattoo since she was sixteen - but   
she’s heard tattoos on the ribs hurt a lot, and Mamrie couldn’t take time off from the bar to come with her. She’s facing two hours in the tattoo parlor alone with, perhaps, a hulking fellow and his needle gun. 

Shit. Her hand trembles on the doorknob to the parlor, the front window adorned with posters for punk rock band concerts and ten percent off your next eyebrow piercing. Do people get more than one of those? Perhaps she should have reconsidered the snow boots and gone for some ripped jeans and combat boots, just so they would take her more seriously. 

No one’s judging you, Grace. You’re paying them, they can’t get mad. 

She takes a deep breath, turning the knob. Cool air kisses her cheeks and holiday crooning meets her ears as she walks inside, kicking snow off her boots. There’s a tiny Christmas tree in the corner adorned with skull lights and swirly bone earrings, and the whole set-up is reassuringly festive. She’s put even more at ease by the kind smile of the man at the desk. 

“How can I help you?” He calls out cheerfully. “Looking for a holiday tattoo?” 

“Kind of.” She looks at him awkwardly. “My name is Grace Helbig? I made an appointment to get a tattoo…at 1.” 

“Sure thing.” He rifles through a drawer, pulling out a clipboard and form. Handing them to her along with a pen, he says, “Here, fill these out and Hannah will be with you in just a moment.” 

So maybe not a hulking man. She plops down on the couch next to the Christmas tree, and tries not to stare too hard at the pin-filled jacket of the scarlet-haired man adjacent to her. 

***

When she returns her clipboard to the desk, her stomach drops in a fluttery swoop, because the woman who takes it from her is….well. Not what she expected. 

She’s her own age, to start, which always, always makes Grace uncomfortable. Slithering up her arms, from her wrists to her neck, are swirls of black and red and blue and gold: she can see roses, dragons, music notes, and kanji, and there must be more ink crawling down her back, but the loose white tank-top only hints at a breath of feathers on her shoulder blades. Metal studs her ears and nose and eyebrow, while bright blue hair rises proudly in a spiky ridge on her head, matching the intense ice of her eyes. 

And it’s her eyes that make Grace’s skin prickle and flush, so she hands over the clipboard quickly. 

“Hey.” Her voice is low and smooth, sending a shiver down Grace’s spine. “You’re Grace, right? I’m Hannah.” 

Grace takes the small hand that is proffered. This Hannah is also quite a bit shorter than her, which makes her feel like even more of an awkward giraffe. 

“We’re going back in just a moment. Did you bring a drawing of what you want done? Um.” She double checks the form. “A - a koala?” 

“Yeah,” Grace says defensively. “On my ribs. But I was hoping that you could just draw one. They said you could do that?” 

“Sure thing.” Hannah smiles for the first time, and it is surprisingly glorious. “Come on, cutie. Best get familiar before I permanently stain your skin.” 

She grabs Grace’s hand, and draws her back into the small room, and Grace prays that her racing heartbeat doesn’t rush down to the clasp of their hands, hot skin on hot skin. 

*** 

“I wore a dress. That was stupid, I’m sorry.” Her words trip over her tongue as she looks at Hannah anxiously, her legs hanging over the table and feet bouncing. 

“That’s okay.” Hannah laughs, wiping the tattoo gun with antiseptic and placing it on the tray. “I’ve seen girls in bras before, Grace.” 

Grace can just taste the amusement in Hannah’s voice as the other girl gives her the once-over, pierced eyebrow raised cockily. Girls that ooze confidence have always scared her a bit, especially girls that look like Hannah: as if they’ve seen the whole universe and are keeping its mysteries a secret from the the mortals. 

She blushes, pink staining her necks and ears. “Could you maybe, um, look away?” 

Hannah closes her eyes slowly, deliberately, a smirk playing on her lips. Maybe she is being a little ridiculous, but nonetheless Grace thinks this is highly unprofessional. She can’t really decide if it’s a good or bad kind of unprofessional, so she hurriedly slips out of the light blue sweater dress and rolls it into a tight ball. Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she coughs. 

Hannah’s eyes blink open (and blink a few more times when they catch sight of Grace’s skin, she notes with satisfaction), but she recovers nicely, folding her arms to match. 

“Do you think I’m going to be able to access your ribs with your arms like that? Loosen up.” She turns partially, grabbing a blue pen. “If it makes you feel better, I would have asked you to take off your shirt, anyway.” 

Grace’s mouth opens, gaping fishily, and her cheeks burn. Hannah has a shit-eating grin on her face, and part of her wants to storm out of the office, but she spots a glimmer of nervousness in Hannah’s sky-blue eyes. Her heart softens, just a bit. 

But not too much. She’s never blushed so much in her entire life, and she’s not going to forgive this cocky, annoyingly beautiful punk girl that easily. 

Hannah approaches her, pen in hand. “I’m gonna need you to be still, okay? Just breathe nice and easy, not too deep.” 

Grace nods, putting her hands in her lap. Hannah’s hands are steady as she presses the tip to her ribs, just under the strap of her bra. She tries not to hold her breath, but the gentle strokes of the pen on her skin tickle in a way that’s not quite unpleasant, but rather makes her whole body flood with chills. Hannah’s forehead is furrowed in concentration - which is not at all cute - and she’s biting her lip - which is not at all sexy - and Grace is definitely not focusing on the way the tips of her blue hair brush her arm every time Hannah lifts the pen. 

“Why’d you dye your hair?” She blurts out. 

Hannah doesn’t answer immediately, finishing the last swirl of the branch before capping the pen. She shoots Grace a smile as she goes to change her gloves, and picks up the tattoo gun. 

“I got it because my little sister loves blue, and my dad told her she couldn’t get blue hair. So I got it instead, just because - you can, yeah? You can do whatever you want to do. It’s your life.” Her gazes presses, fierce but warm, into Grace’s wide eyes. “And it’s awesome.” 

She changes the subject abruptly. “You like the drawing? I think…this is what you want.” 

Grace peers down. A swirly blue koala looks back at her, and her chest feels warm, because it feels right, sitting there on her ribs like a tiny guardian angel. 

“It’s perfect.” She says sincerely. “Thank you.” 

Hannah smirks. “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t started the painful part. Lie down for me, okay?” 

Grace lets her head fall back, trying not to let her breath quicken with nerves. She hears Hannah pull up a stool, and the whirr of the tattoo gun come to life. 

“Okay.” Hannah’s voice is a low whisper in her ear. “The ribs hurt a lot, but I’m gonna go slow. I just want you to start telling me about why you’re getting this tattoo, and when you’re through with that, tell me about the first person you’re going to show it to. And try not to flinch too much.” 

Grace breathes, low and long and shuddering, as the the first prickle of pain flickers to life on her ribcage. “I went to Australia when I was sixteen.” 

“Yeah?” Her cadence remains slow, soothing.

“I was on this internship and I remember getting really lonely sometimes. Because I was shy and even though I made friends towards the end of the summer, it was hard, in the beginning. So after we did our stuff at the media station, I’d buy frozen yogurt and take the bus to this koala sanctuary outside of Brisbane. I’d watch them for an hour or two - they’re the only animals that are anywhere near as awkward as me.” 

She can feel her mouth curve into a smile, unconsciously. “They really helped me that summer. And I’ve wanted the tattoo ever since.” 

“That’s a nice story.” Hannah wipes away the prickles of blood and bubbling ink. “Keep going, you weird little koala.” 

A giggle bubbles up in her chest. “I met Mamrie on that trip - she’s my best friend, and I think you’d like her a lot. She’s the first person I’m going to show this to. Maybe I’ll show my mom in like, ten years.” Grace breathes sharply. The talking has worked to distract her from the pain so far, but it’s starting to throb and ache. 

“Hey.” Hannah’s gloved hand touches her stomach gently. “Easy breaths. We’re getting there. I’ll tell you the story of my first tattoo, so just close your eyes for a bit. Don’t worry your pretty head, miss Grace, I’m going to take good care of you.” 

Grace lets her eyes flutter shut, concentrating on the soft hum of “All I Want for Christmas” beneath Hannah’s low words. 

“So it all started when my friend Tyler said he knew this guy that would give free tattoos for guitar lessons, and because I knew guitar…” 

*** 

The next hour goes by with a swiftness that makes Grace want even the sharp prickle of the needle to last just a little longer. Hannah has a (possibly endearing) love of puns, and her chest hurts from containing her bellows of laughter. There’s now a fresh bandage pressed over her ribs, and Hannah is back to cleaning the tool. 

“Still want me to turn around?” Hannah gestures to the blue dress on the table, long forgotten. 

Grace promptly blushes. “No, that’s okay.” She pulls it over her head and slips on her coat and boots, pulling out her wallet. 

“20% off,” Hannah says quickly. “On all newbies. Company policy.” She winks cheekily. 

“Thanks for helping a starving college student out.” Grace jokes, pressing a few bills into Hannah’s hands. “Guess I just get to tip you more.” 

“Whatever. Hey, don’t leave yet, I need to get you a receipt.” 

She rushes out to the front desk, and Grace follows, pressing one hand to her tattoo. It throbs, reminding her that it’s real, so real. Forever. The word tastes good on her tongue. 

Hannah hands her a scrap of paper. “Don’t forget your aftercare, yeah? I’ll be real pissed if I see you back in here for an infection.” 

“Okay, if you say so.” Grace grins at her. She feels lighter, somehow. And as she turns to leave, that itty bit of paper burning a hole in her pocket, Hannah calls out. 

“The dress… looks nice on you, Grace. It was a good decision.” 

Grace contemplates her for a moment, and then very slowly, with a tragic expression on her face, flips her off. 

The sound of Hannah’s laughter is the sweetest sound. 

*** 

fin


End file.
